Chapter Six

Wreck was standing her up.

Timber had known it for the last hour, as the food she'd cooked sat growing cold on the table.

She had made herself a plate eventually, but Timber didn't feel like doing much more than pushing the food around the plate with her fork.

Timber hadn't burned it. Lasagna really was simple to make, and she felt a little silly for burning it the first time, years ago. She hadn't told Wreck this part, but she'd cooked it for her ex, and he'd made so much fun of her for burning it. He'd brought it up over the years in front of friends, in front of her family, and he'd gotten others to tease her too. She'd just shied away from ever trying to make it again. She hadn't wanted anything to do with the pressure, or the uncomfortable experience.

Her phone vibrated. She blinked and dragged her gaze to the glowing screen of her phone. It wasn't Wreck texting, but she hadn't expected it to be. He'd made his choice, and now she needed to move on from thinking about him.

Standing a woman up was unforgivable, especially if this much effort was involved.

It wasn't just meeting at a restaurant. She'd pored over the menu, gone grocery shopping just for tonight, cleaned her home, counted down the hours, and then spent the evening in the kitchen.

After her last relationship, she'd realized what she deserved, and she deserved better than this.

The text was from Hallie of the Fastlanders.

Timber frowned, dragged the phone closer to herself, opened up the text thread, and read.

How's it going with Wreck?

Truth be told, she'd talked to Hallie a few times. Not to spy on Wreck or anything, but Hallie had been kind and funny on the phone. Timber had even told her she was cooking for Wreck tonight, and the woman had seemed genuinely happy for her.

Her heart ached as she typed out, He didn't show. Send.

A video file came through, with the caption: I figured. Just so you know, he doesn't seem happy about his decision to stand you up.

Confused, Timber pushed play on the video. Her heart dropped down to her toes as she saw the flames. A few men with bright, glowing eyes were outside of a single-wide trailer—two with hoses, dousing flames that lapped at the left side of the home, and one with a fire extinguisher. A man was yelling in the background. The video panned around to show a tall, barrel-chested man yelling at Wreck, who was sitting in a lawn chair, his boots propped up on some rubble that looked like it was probably a firepit at one point. Wreck was staring, unblinking and vacantly, toward the flames.

A few of the trees were burning in the woods in the background. There was a flurry of motion there, but she couldn't make out the individual people who were fighting the fires.

It was chaos, but Wreck looked completely calm. Numb, almost. Like he didn't care.

"Say hi," Hallie's voice rang out from behind the camera.

"Fuck off," Wreck said in a monotone as he lifted his empty gaze to the camera.

"I'm sending this to Timber."

An enormous whooshing sound crackled across the video as Wreck blurred toward the camera. Timber gasped and nearly dropped the phone as the screen went dead and the video cut off.

Heart pounding, she replayed the video, but stopped it on the last part, dragging it through slow motion to try and see what had happened. Frame by frame, she watched Wreck's eyes ignite and his body catch fire as he flew toward Hallie. Flew. His feet weren't touching the ground. He was so fast, she could barely make out his form at all. It was just…fire.

Are you okay? she frantically texted Hallie.

Yep. It was a bluff, thank God.

He's a mess. Send.

I think he could use a friend.

You're his friend. Send.

If you asked him, he would say we are not his friends. But you? Before he lost control, he said your name.

She read that a few times, baffled. So, I make it worse then? I make him lose control. Send.

No. The way he said it…he was trying to use your name to stop his fire. He said it like a prayer.

Chills.

Chills, chills, chills.

He could use a friend. That combination of words tugged at her sympathy. This was a man who hadn't learned how to reach out, or how to stop his own destruction, and she had a feeling she understood part of why he was that way. Likely, he tried to keep his life simple. No emotion that was unnecessary. No turmoil, so that he could have a chance at controlling the animal inside of him, but clearly he was going through something now. Something she didn't fully understand. Something he perhaps didn't understand himself.

Hallie was right. A man like that needed friends. He needed support and understanding before he burned every bridge in his life just for the excuse to self-isolate. If he chased everyone away, he wouldn't disappoint anyone.

She'd seen it before.

She'd seen it in herself.

Timber typed out, Address? Send.

1010 Winding Creek Way. Follow the trail of smoke up the mountain.

She bit the corner of her thumbnail and stared at the pan of lasagna that had stopped steaming nearly an hour ago. Testing herself, she typed the address into her maps function. If the drive was more than twenty minutes away, it was a sign she shouldn't go. Estimated time of travel was nineteen minutes. Crap.

Okay, she would close her eyes and stick her hand into the plastic-container cabinet, and if she didn't pull out the exact right size to fit exactly half of the lasagna in, it was a sign she needed to stay home. Drat. She pulled out the specific one she needed. Even the lid was easy to find.

She tried that three times more with the plastic containers the exact size of the parmesan-roasted brussels sprouts, garlic bread, and one for the mac and cheese, and each time, fate foiled her plans of just going to bed.

Maybe she should go and set the food on his doorstep, and that could be her final farewell. Just leave a mind-grenade in him so he would always think of how classy that one human woman had been when he'd been a petrified turd to her.

No.

Yes.

No, yes. No.

Yes!

No.

Irritated with her thoughts of even daring to show up at that disaster-man's house, she put the food away in the plastic storage containers and shoved them in the fridge. She stomped her way to her bedroom, where she dressed in cotton shorts that were two sizes too big and a T-shirt that swallowed up all her curves. Then she mussed her perfectly-curled hair, and did a couple of air kicks and punches in frustration at the little voice that said she should go to the address Hallie gave her and yell at Wreck for being a coward.

This was toxic. It was bad behavior. It wasn't a healthy relationship dynamic, and she'd been searching for perfect.

Until the perfect man came along, she would simply stay single. Forever. And ever.

She would rather be single than deal with a man who couldn't even give her a call to tell her he wouldn't make it to dinner, or be honest about his feelings. A man who sets freaking fire to his own house when he's angry. A man who could fly!

True, the green flames were fun, and he was interesting. Very interesting. And he had moments of depth that drew her to him like a moth to a flame. She couldn't be the moth forever, though. She couldn't exist in the push-and-pull he created.

She didn't need a man. She just…wanted one. She wanted someone to ask how her day was, and show up and load her car onto a trailer, and take care of things without her asking. Someone to be nice to her.

And okay, she was disappointed. She was! There was the admission. She'd felt something she hadn't ever felt before—some spark that started in her heart and reached for him. He was different, and she saw so much potential in him, but he wasn't ready.

That was it. That felt like the core of the issue between them.

Wreck wasn't ready for her.

Timber could be a friend though.

She packed the containers of food into a paper bag with handles, backed out of her driveway in her new Ranger, and headed for the plumes of smoke in the mountains. It was just a few turns before she was on the two-lane road that would lead her to the Fastlanders…to Wreck.

He would be angry. She expected it. She'd treated many clients with mental-health disorders, and sometimes guilt came through as anger.

He wouldn't feel good about what had happened tonight.

She turned onto Winding Creek Way and followed the road up, then took a right at a small fork in the road with a bullet-riddled No Trespassing sign. When her headlights lit up the sign, there was a subtle outline of a dragon that shone behind the lettering. Part of Damon's Mountains, she guessed.

Her truck had an easy time getting up the steep gravel incline, and she eventually pulled through the last line of forest before she reached the clearing. There were tents, and people moving around in droves. She was stunned, slowing her truck down just to witness the mass of people in these woods. Many looked frustrated, and were talking in small groups. What the heck was going on? There was no way there were this many Fastlanders. There were only nine shifters and a human child listed on the recent shifter-registry updates for this Crew. There were dozens of people camping out here though, and not all of them were in their human forms. Two massive grizzlies ambled through the woods, glowing eyes on her truck.

She gripped the steering wheel harder to stop the trembling in her hands.

She shouldn't be here.

Just as Timber decided to turn back around, movement up the gravel road caught her attention. It was Hallie. Timber recognized her from the registry picture. She wore a small smile, and was gesturing her forward.

Blowing out a long, steadying breath, Timber eased her foot onto the gas and allowed her truck to slowly crawl up into the clearing. Hallie walked alongside her and gestured where to park, in a spot right next to Wreck's truck, in front of the still-smoking single-wide trailer. There was chaos in the clearing with people cleaning up rubble, but Wreck's home was quiet. A wide berth had been given to it.

When she got out, Hallie pulled her in for a hug and simply said, "Thank you for coming. Call out if you need anything." She squeezed Timber's hand and strode off, leaving Timber to cast her gaze on the man who sat on the front porch of his home.

Wreck sat leaned against the porch railing with his profile to her, no shirt on, eyes on the woods, knees drawn up, a bottle of what looked like whiskey dangling from his right hand. The air felt so heavy it was hard to breathe, and not just because of the smoke. Wreck was doing something dark to the atmosphere.

The smoke smelled strange as she inhaled a steadying breath. It wasn't as thick or lung-clogging as normal smoke. It had a metallic scent to it that she didn't recognize. She could inhale without coughing.

The way he stared at the woods, unmoving, hurt her heart. God, he was so deep in it.

She left the food in the truck, and approached his porch.

"Careful," a big brute of a man with dark hair said from the other side of Wreck's truck.

"Let her try, Bash," the big man from Hallie's video called from a couple of trailers over.

The big man lowered his chin and backed away, eyes on Gunner, the Alpha of the Fastlanders. Oh, she recognized him too.

Wreck's head slowly turned toward her, and she could see churning flames in his eyes. The look he gave her was so empty. Soulless. He wore nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, and his skin looked flushed and overheated, but it was his empty eyes that held her attention.

He could use a friend.

She slowly made her way up the stairs and stood in front of him. She waited for a few moments as he glared at her like he hated her. He didn't though. She had seen this before.

He hated himself, not her.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"I want to see the damage."

He huffed an empty laugh and looked to the woods, then back to her. "Be my guest." He kicked the door, and it creaked open.

From here, she could see the burned rubble inside. Something electrical was still sparking, and the home was clouded in that metallic-scented smoke. Mounds of what looked like dried lava covered the furniture, and huge lengths of floor were completely burned through.

"That's not what I was talking about. I meant I want to see your damage."

His eyes narrowed, and he took a drink from the bottle of cheap whiskey. "I don't usually drink, but it's a special occasion."

Even his voice was different. Hollow.

"Can I sit with you?" In your dark moment? I'll sit with you. She left those words unspoken. He wouldn't see the value in her effort until later, when he could think through the fog again.

"Go away."

She inhaled sharply, lifted her shoulders in a shrug, and said, "No."

"Go. Away." He gritted it out slowly, eyes on fire and boring straight through her.

Her eyes burned, and she dipped her gaze to try and control the emotion on her face. "No," she whispered. And then she sat down, the toes of her shoes close to his feet.

She quickly swiped the back of her hand across her cheeks to catch her escaping tears.

"Why are you crying?" he gritted out.

"Because your hurt is a really big hurt. I wish it was smaller."

He shook his head hard and stared out at the woods, stealing his flaming glare from her, but she didn't miss it. His heart was in his eyes for a moment. He swallowed hard. "I'll burn you."

"Is this the part where you're chasing me off?"

"I'll be the end of you. I'll be the end of all of these people." He took another drink, and she watched his Adam's apple work as he moved the burning liquor down his throat. He slapped his head hard three times and lowered his gaze to the porch floorboards between his knees.

"Keep going."

Anger was in his gaze again as he looked up. "I said to go away."

"Keep telling me all the bad stuff. Maybe then I'll go away."

"If I wanted to be with you, I would've come to your house tonight."

It stung, but she'd seen this before—the lash-out.

She waited, hoping the tears that burned her eyes would stay put.

"I don't want to be with you."

"I'm not asking that of you," she murmured. "I can be your friend."

"I don't want a fucking friend!" He threw the bottle of whiskey, and it shattered against the grille of his truck. "Timber! I'm trying! I'm fucking trying!"

"Trying to chase me away."

He jammed a finger toward his truck. "My dad is standing there."

Chills rippled up her spine. She dared a glance at his truck, but all she saw was the broken glass and whiskey dripping from the front end.

"I see him still. He haunts me. He tells me what will happen, what I will do. He tells me I'll be just like him, and I know it's true. I can feel it. He was losing control at the end, and I'm doing the same thing."

"There's no one there," she whispered.

His smile was so empty. "To you, there is no one there, because you are normal, Timber. I'm haunted by the man I killed."

She couldn't contain her gasp, and placed her hands over her mouth at his awful admission.

"There it is. Now you're starting to see me. That look in your eyes is how you should always see me, Timber."

"What happened?"

"Age sixteen. I didn't know I was like him. He had fire, and I didn't fucking know I did. I prayed to be like my mom. I prayed I wouldn't get it. He had to burn everything down. He hurt my mom, and he hurt me, and he kept burning fields. Crops. He set fire to the homes of people he had a problem with. It got bigger and bigger, and the police started showing up, asking questions, and then he got meaner, and louder. He got cocky. He got crazy. His mind started going, and I watched my mom take the brunt of it. And one day, I just…burned him alive. That's how I figured out I have fire. I was angry. He'd burned my mom's arm grabbing her, and I just…lost it. He fought back, and I got hurt, and we set fire to acres of land around us, but I burned that motherfucker to ashes. I burned him while my mother was screaming for us to stop—" his voice cracked, and he slammed his head back against the railing and covered his face with his hands. His hands caught fire, and it ignited his skin. He just sat there burning. "She was screaming for me to stop, and I burned him anyway. He couldn't stop, and I couldn't stop, and one of us was going to die that day. I didn't want it to be me. I wanted my mom to be safe from him." The last of his admission came so softly, she barely heard it over the sound of the flames that were lapping at his skin.

Nothing on the porch was catching fire but him.

He didn't see it though. Where his foot touched her sneaker, the fire had changed colors.

The small flames there were green.

"Is that why you don't see your mom?" she asked, heartbroken for him.

"She is what I have left. Look what I did to your arm, Timber. Same thing my father did, and I wasn't even angry. I was trying to help you. I'm no better than him. I have the same shitty grasp on control he did. I couldn't live with myself if I ever lost control around her again." He crossed his arms over his knees, just…a man on fire. So bright, it hurt to look directly at him.

"What else?" she asked softly.

He shook his head back and forth slowly, face buried against his arms. He didn't see the change in the woods. People had stopped working, stopped talking. They were drifting toward the outer edge of the firelight he created, and they didn't look angry or frustrated anymore.

They looked…stunned.

"What else?" she asked again.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Then you won't. Look."

She'd been watching the green of his flames travel slowly up his shins. It had reached the knees of his sweatpants now. Healing green, warring with the angry red and orange.

His eyes went wide, and he muttered a curse and flinched away from her. "Don't get too close," he gritted out, pressing back against the porch railing.

"What else is so awful about you?" she whispered.

"I will be the end of everything I care about. Just like my father."

"Is that all?"

"Is that all?" he asked, the green flames on his legs blazing red. He stood. "That's not enough? Look around you, Timber. Look at these people's faces."

But when Timber stood too, she looked around, and there was a softness to his people. Tens of people stood around, watching, waiting. Their eyes were full of understanding, not hate. Hallie had tears in her eyes, and her lip was trembling.

He was looking around now, confusion warring with anger on his face.

"What else is so bad?" she whispered.

"None of that is okay," he uttered.

Timber took a step toward him.

"Stop!" he growled.

Pursing her lips, she took another step closer. Oh, he could escape. He could jump the railing, or hell, he could just fly away.

He angled his face away from her as she took another step closer. The flames on his body were cooling. They were growing smaller, and the ones closest to her had green edges.

She had to have faith in him, and in his animal, that he would keep her safe from himself.

"It's okay."

"Stop," he whispered.

"It's okay," she uttered softly.

"Please," he said thickly.

Timber huffed a tension-filled breath and reached for him, half expecting the burn.

She wrapped her arms around him and rested her cheek on his chest, face toward his destroyed home.

He was warm, but not uncomfortably so. She stood as still as she could, hugging him as tightly as was possible for a fragile human like her. Wreck stood still, full of tension, arms pinned to his sides. His chest rose and fell quickly with his short breaths.

"Go away," he whispered half-heartedly one more time.

"No."

And she felt it. His tension faded like morning fog meeting sunshine. He exhaled a steadying breath, and she opened her eyes to see their reflection in the window by the front door. He was edged in soot, but in the reflection, they were both glowing a bright green. As he eased his arms out of her embrace, the green brightened even more.

He slowly slid his arms around her, and the pressure of his hands on her back drew a sigh from her.

Squeezing her eyes closed, two tears raced down her cheeks. She knew he'd lowered a wall for her tonight. A big one. One he'd kept carefully built and guarded for years.

As he tightened his arms around her and rested his cheek on top of her head, a surge of power drew the breath from her lungs, and her eyes flew open.

The gasps from the others were audible over the wind created by the beam of glowing power that shot straight up into the sky above them.

The murmurings of the others picked up as she looked around at the floating green ashes that fell to the ground. A small boy of perhaps five or six yelled in delight as he caught green sparks from the air.

A crackling sound filled the clearing, and someone shouted, "The trees!"

Chest heaving, she scanned the glowing clearing, absolutely baffled by what she was seeing. The trees that had been burning were blooming leaves of green fire. She could see it clear as day in the glowing clearing.

"What the hell?" Wreck murmured, cupping the side of her neck with his strong hand as he looked at the others. His gaze landed on a dark-haired man with silver at his temples. He was watching the healing trees, and when he looked back at Wreck, he wore a small smile. His eyes looked strange. The shape of his pupils was off, and his eyes looked silver.

"Detach from her fast just to be safe. We don't know how much this will drain you. You'll need to consume ash."

She didn't understand his words, but before she could ask, that green shock of power pulled from the sky and back into them, and she was thrown backward. She hit the railing hard, and then Wreck was just…gone.

All that was left behind was a red streak of fire that drove straight into the atmosphere, and the burn of the heat he'd created.

She shielded her face as the intensity of the hot temperature dissipated.

"Holy. Shit." A blond-haired man uttered, looking up into the sky. Owen, if the pictures of the Fastlanders were anything to go by. "Well, that was pretty fuckin' cool."

"Owen!" A big, barrel-chested man said, settling his massive hands over the little boy's ears. "Language, man!"

"I can't see the fuckin' fireflies anymore!" the kiddo said.

The barrel-chested man shoved Owen in the shoulder so hard, he flew backward a few steps.

"Honey, I don't know what they were, but I don't think they were alive, and also, we don't say the F-word," a woman said from beside them.

"You should go look inside," the silver-eyed man said.

Timber looked back up at the sky, worried for Wreck.

"He will be back," the man promised. "I'm Damon," he introduced himself.

"Damon…" She cleared her throat. Be cool . "Damon Daye?" she guessed.

His slow, reptilian smile said she'd guessed right. "You're Timber. We knew you were coming, we just didn't know when. You are everything we hoped that you would be."

"We?"

He didn't explain further though, just turned and walked away. The crowd parted for him, and she was left feeling like she was in another world completely.

These were the shifters she'd heard rumors of for her entire life. These were the famous ones. These were the ones with trading cards that people went crazy over. She recognized some in the crowd. Willamena Barns, the Almost Alpha of the Gray Backs. Clinton Fuller of the Boarlanders. Tagan James was standing right at the front, and he was Alpha of the Ashe Crew.

She was among shifter royalty, and they were looking at her like she was something interesting?

She swallowed hard and gave a little wave. Was she going to have a panic attack? Maybe. "Um, hi."

"We're going to check out the house," Hallie announced as she scaled the porch steps and pushed Timber inside.

The smoke had cleared out completely, and whatever had been sparking earlier had stopped. It was dark, so she pulled her phone out and turned on the flashlight function, then shone it around. "Oh my gosh," she murmured, taking it all in. Everywhere that was burned was just…gone. There was no dried lava or singe marks. The edges of the open roof were just raw, not a single charred mark to be seen. There were just huge chunks of the house missing with no clue left behind as to what caused the damage.

Hallie sat heavily on the good side of the couch, but it shifted and fell at an angle into the emptiness that had been burned and then healed away. She laughed a shocked sound.

"I didn't know he could do green fire."

"Me either," a woman said from the doorway. Her eyes were glowing gold.

"Silver, this is Timber. Timber? Silver," Hallie introduced them.

Other women filed through the door. One was holding the hand of the boy, who was introduced as Ruger. Behind them followed the rest of the Fastlanders. They introduced themselves one by one, and while she was happy to chat and go through introductions, she couldn't keep her eyes from the hole in the ceiling that exposed the starry night sky. She was worried for Wreck. He'd been through a huge, draining night, and now he was in the air. Alone.

She didn't think she would ever get used to Wreck being able to control fire, or fly—even if she lived for a hundred years.

When the others left, she didn't really know what to do. All she knew was that she couldn't leave until Wreck came back.

She hoped the Fastlanders didn't mind her camping out in his destroyed house, but she couldn't leave even if she tried.

His home was plainly decorated. There were no pictures on the walls, or décor. The walls were painted white, and when she drifted into the bedroom and aimed her flashlight at the furniture in there, his sheets and comforter and pillowcases were all white as well.

What made a man want such a sterile environment?

The floors were made of fine wood, and stained a deep chestnut color that was great at bringing out that gorgeous wood grain, but everything else seemed to be as he'd bought it, perhaps.

A wave of power rocked her backward onto her heels, and she barely caught herself on the wall.

"Wreck?" she murmured, heading for the living room. She picked up her pace, and nearly tripped over the couch. She snatched the throw blanket off the back of the couch and aimed for the open doorway.

Others had gone to bed, and the woods had gone quiet. Wreck was on his hands and knees in the yard, covered in dark ashes, and there was a trail of fire leading right to him.

He rocked back on his bent legs and rolled his head back, exposing the Adam's apple in his muscular throat as he looked at her with fire in his eyes.

Disappointment filled her. He wasn't happy to see her.

"You still want me to go away."

He shook his head slowly, and there was this little blossom of hope in her center.

Slowly, carefully, she approached and settled the blanket over his shoulders.

He staggered up to his feet, swayed and steadied out, then stood to his full height as he wrapped the blanket more tightly around himself.

Her eyes went wide as he stood to his full height. He looked bigger. His muscles all looked fuller, larger. His six-pack was more chiseled, and the thin sheen of sweat over his shoulders highlighted the bigger curves there.

He looked like a demigod come to earth.

"Come here," he said low, just like he had said to her before.

Pursing her lips against a smile, she slowly approached.

He asked, "Why are you still here?"

"Because I was worried about you."

"Lie."

She frowned. It didn't feel like a lie to her. "Because you could use a friend?" she guessed.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Try again."

She sighed in frustration. "Because I made you food, and I want you to eat my food and tell me it's amazing, and I wanted to make sure you were okay because that was a big admission and then you went zoom-zoom into the sky like a friggin' rocket. You are a walking red flag, but apparently red is my favorite color. And what in the devil are you, Wreck, if not a dragon? What? What could you possibly—"

His lips crashed onto hers at the exact moment his strong hand went around her throat and gripped her firmly enough to hold her in place, but gently enough to make it pleasurable.

Ooohhh, he knew how to choke a woman in the sexy way, not the scary way.

She eased back from the kiss and searched his eyes. She'd placed her hands on his chest without even realizing it, but there was no heat. No flames. No red. No green.

It was just…Wreck.

He angled his face, and the fire even died from his eyes. "You said it's okay."

Butterflies filled her middle and she smiled so big, her eyes squinted shut. When she hung her head to hide how pleased she was that what she'd said had affected him, he hooked a finger under her chin and lifted her gaze back to his. "You said it's okay," he repeated.

Timber slowly slid her hands from his chest, up his neck, to his cheeks, and cupped his face. "It's okay. You're okay. I'm okay. Wreck, hear me. Everything is okay."

He leaned in and kissed her more gently this time, moving his mouth against hers like he already knew her lips. His fingertips were in her hair, brushing it out of her face, and she absolutely melted against his touch.

She knew it was wrong. She knew. She was a human, being touched by a powerful being she knew so very little about. He scared the shifters here, and now she was standing in his embrace begging for more.

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she wouldn't be able to survive him.

He'd admitting to losing control. He'd lost control tonight and caused so much destruction, but there was good in him. The green said he had good.

The understanding in these shifters' eyes here said he had good.

The faith of Damon Daye said he had good.

Down to her bones, she felt he had good inside of him.

She'd never felt like this under any man's touch. She'd never worried over a man like this. She'd never wanted to understand a man more.

His story was tragic, but he was still here.

He was haunted by the father he'd fought and won, but he was still here.

He loved his mother deeply, and had severed their physical contact just so he could make sure she was safe. From him.

He knew how to love.

A man who knew how to love had good in him.

Fire and all.

Perhaps tomorrow she would wake up and be terrified of his power, but tonight, she'd seen past the walls he'd carefully constructed around himself, and God, it was beautiful.

He leaned into her, picked her up, and wrapped her legs around himself. He carried her across the yard, up the porch stairs, and into the destroyed house.

He set her down, and looked around.

The uncertainty in his expression made her chest ache, so she told him, "We will rebuild it. We will make it even better."

He dragged his attention from the huge hole in the roof. "I'm sorry." He'd said it so suddenly, and with such tenderness, it took her by surprise and froze her words in her throat.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I should've shown up today. I bought a bottle of wine to bring you, and then I…" He shook his head. "No excuses. I didn't show up for you, and I should've."

"You should've," she agreed. But she could absolutely appreciate a man who could understand the wrong he did, own it, and apologize face-to-face.

"I don't think we can be friends," he whispered as he grabbed her hand and lifted it against his, palm to palm. He intertwined their fingers. "We're past it, and we can't go back. My animal can't go back."

He kissed the back of her hand and then released her. He reached out his pointer finger and brushed it against the handprint burn on her arm. "I think he claimed you already. I'm sorry, Timber."

"What does it mean?" she asked.

"It means he chose you the night of the car wreck." He pulled her close and swayed in a dance with no music other than their pounding heartbeats.

"I try to fight it, but it feels like I'm burning from the inside out. It's not fair to you. It's not. I know it's not. You don't deserve this life. You deserve better. Steadier. Safer." He lifted her other hand and intertwined his fingers in hers. Now he had both of her hands held, and something was growing inside of her. Hope, perhaps. Joy? A steadfast understanding that this man was important. Maybe all of that.

More likely, and she wasn't going to say it out loud yet—not yet—she was falling in love. Nothing else had ever felt like this before.

Was he good for her? Who knew. Was he capable of change? She thought so. Was he capable of improving and being the man she knew he could be? Yes. Time would tell if he wanted to do the work, though.

She had work to do too. She had to be stronger for this life. It wasn't like her human life. This was an entirely different world.

"You have a choice. You don't have to do this," he whispered.

Wreck was tall, and she had to arch her neck back to look up at him. "You aren't hurting me now."

"Because you damn-near killed me."

She frowned. "What?"

Wreck released her right hand and brushed her hair off her neck. He cupped her there and lowered his lips to her ear. "Until tonight, nothing could hurt me."

"I hurt you?" she asked, horrified.

He smiled tiredly. "It's a good thing, Timber. Someone should be able to protect the world from me. You can."

Gooseflesh rippled up her arms. "I don't want to protect the world from you. I want to keep you safe."

He cupped her cheek and rested his against the other side of her face, slowly swaying in the dance again. Being this close to him, smelling his cologne and the faint scent of that metallic smoke, it was so natural for the rest of the world to fall away.

He murmured again, "You said it's okay."

"Is that the first time anyone has told you that?"

"First time anyone but my mother has said that. You were supposed to run away."

"That won't work. I'm a therapist, remember? I can see that tactic a mile away. You were pushing me away. You'll do it again and again, but each time will get smaller and smaller until you realize I am a barnacle and you just have to live with my friendship."

He chuckled, and the vibration of the sound warmed her from the inside out. "Want me to plan a dinner? You can stand me up. Make it even."

"Not my style, Mr. Bonfire Shifter. I would call if I have to miss. From now on, you will do the same. Them's the rules if you want to be friends with me."

He leaned back by inches and let her see his eyes as he murmured something that stopped the whole world.

"Phoenix."

She gripped his arms, sure she'd misheard him. "What?"

"I'm not a bonfire shifter, or a dragon, or whatever else you have imagined. I'm a phoenix."

"A phoenix?" she uttered on a breath as so many things clicked into place. Of course he was.

"It's not like you think it is. It's not all ‘and then the phoenix rises from the ashes.' I destroy. I make the ashes. Now, I consume the ashes like the dragons do. There's very little control though. Being a phoenix is a curse."

"You are not cursed, Wreck."

"Mmm. You'll see it differently eventually."

"Or maybe you will." She pulled his hand up and traced a line down his palm, igniting a small trail of green flame. A smile took her lips. "New power unlocked."

"You're terrifying."

"You keep saying that, but I'll remind you I am just a little human who whines about paper-cuts."

He snorted. His face was drawn and he looked exhausted, but at least he was still able to smile.

"Can I feed you now? Before the meat sauce in my lasagna goes bad?"

He inhaled sharply and looked at the gaping hole in his ceiling. Half of the ceiling fan was just…gone. "Sure. Tonight is already weird. Sure, we can eat lasagna in my burned house."

She pursed her lips against a smile, because this really wasn't funny. Maybe she was in shock or something. She should not be smiling right now. "I met Damon Daye."

His eyes snapped to her. "What did he say?"

"That I am better than they expected."

His brows drew down in confusion.

"I don't know," she answered before he could even ask what that meant. She had no idea. "Hey, you aren't burning me," she pointed out. She was still tracing shapes into his palm, and now even the green fire was gone.

"Congratulations," he muttered. "You're surviving me for tonight."

"You'll keep me safe," she said in a chipper tone as she headed for the door.

"Leaving?"

"You wish. No, the food is in the truck." She turned and grinned. "Eat my lasagna and feed me compliments already. I'm a simple woman with simple needs. You stood me up and set me on green fire. I will throw a tantrum if you don't eat what I cooked."

His chuckle followed her out of the house as she jogged down the stairs and to her car.

She pulled the bag of food out of the passenger's seat, but a man's voice froze her as she turned for the house again.

It was the dark-haired man Gunner had called Bash. "You did good."

He stood there with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He had dark hair and forest-green eyes that glowed in the dark. He wore a small frown. "I told Damon he couldn't be saved, and that he would hurt us."

"Wreck?"

He nodded. "I got my mate. I don't want a bomb near her."

"You think Wreck is a bomb?" she asked softly.

"I don't know anymore. Maybe you make him not a bomb."

He spoke in a strange way, but his words touched her. He began to walk away, and she didn't know why, but she blurted out, "Your mate is lucky."

Bash turned and straightened his spine. "She says that too."

"Is she here? Is she staying in these woods?"

He nodded.

"Why are people staying in tents here? Did something happen to your homes?"

"No. War is coming for the Fastlanders. We are here to help. Goodnight, Green Girl." Bash turned and disappeared into the shadows of the woods, leaving Timber to mull over his words.

"He's right," Wreck said from the porch. He had pulled on a pair of black sweatpants, and his hair was wet like he'd done a quick rinse-off. "War is coming for the Fastlanders. You should know everything before you choose to spend more time here."

"It's a lot," she admitted, clutching the bag of food to her belly like a shield.

"I know. I'll tell you about it over food."

And he did. As they ate the meal she'd prepared with plastic forks on the floor of his living room, with a flame he'd ignited in the fireplace, the light flickering orange highlights over his somber face, Wreck explained how the Holland Pride was coming for them. He talked of a seer in the mountains named Lucia, and her visions of the war. He talked about the night he'd saved Timber from her car, and how Lucia had warned him not to go or there would be glass and blood, and not to go on the bridge. He told her of how he'd tried to leave Laramie every day since her car wreck to go and destroy the Holland Pride before they could get to the Fastlanders, but every day something happened to keep him here.

He talked about fate and destiny, and how he was beginning to believe in it.

He spoke of the Fastlanders and his feelings about them. He admitted he'd already submitted a plea to Damon to release him from the Fastlanders as soon as the Holland War was done. He admitted to his discomfort here and his struggle to connect with people.

He exposed so much of himself, but she found it impossible to judge him. The things he dealt with in his daily life were intensified because he was a shifter and lived by shifter law, but it was understandable on a human level.

Her phone was on ten percent battery when she checked the time. It was four-thirty in the morning. The sun would be rising soon.

"Are you getting tired?" he asked.

"Yes, but I'm not ready to leave." She drew her knees up, wrapped her arms around them, and rested her chin on her wrist. "I don't think I've ever gotten to know more about a person in one night. I don't want it to end."

The flames of the hearth fire threw his face into gold highlights and deep shadows. He canted his head. "My mother would like you."

"That would make one mother," she teased. "My own does not feel that way."

"She's missing out."

"If you met her, you would instantly realize that she does not feel that way."

"I'll meet her." He'd said it off the cuff. Just easy as you like.

"My mother is a battle-axe."

A slow, dark smile curved his lips. "I bet I'm worse."

She didn't know why, but that actually made her feel better. It was fun to think about having someone on her side. Sure, Sasha stuck up for her from time to time, but she stayed fairly neutral. Even stuck up for her parents' actions when it didn't make sense for her to do so.

Sometimes, Timber thought it would feel so damn good just to have one person have her back entirely. To validate her feelings of hurt and anger.

Wreck was offering just that.

"I don't think I can explain how much that means to me," she said quietly.

He nodded, eyes on her. "There are tents outside, and charging stations. Do you want me to set you up in the bedroom here, and I can take one of those? I can charge your phone."

"You wouldn't mind me staying here?"

Wreck shrugged. "My bedroom wasn't damaged."

"Why haven't you decorated this place?" she asked out of curiosity.

"Because I don't know how long I will be staying here. What's the point in that effort?"

"But you have clearly made new floors in here. There is still sawdust in the corners, and a box of nails over there. I saw a pile of laminate flooring you've pulled up. You care in some ways."

Another shrug, and the fire in the hearth captured his attention. "I was tired of falling through the rotted floors."

"Um, do you have an extra toothbrush?"

He rocked upward, stood, and offered his hand. "I sure do. Come on."

She slid her hand against his palm, and no flames appeared. Just a soothing, warm, tingling sensation.

She let him lead her into the bathroom, where he found an extra toothbrush out of the box, toothpaste, and a dark purple washrag to wash her face. As she prepared for bed, he disappeared, and reappeared with a giant shirt of his. He handed it over. "You can wear this to bed if you want."

She unfolded the black T-shirt and read the band name, then recited the lyrics, "Have you ever heard the name…the name that brings you back to the day…"

His eyebrows arched up in surprise. "You know Still Too Far?"

"I saw them a couple years ago when they played in Cheyenne."

"Me too. It's where I got the shirt."

"Maybe we saw each other that night," she said.

"Maybe," he said as he took a seat on the edge of the bathtub.

"Are you going to watch me change?"

"Not if you don't want me to. I'll watch you do the other stuff though."

She hesitated. "No one has seen me do my nighttime routine since my ex."

"What was his name?"

"Brandon."

"Brandon's a shitbag. He and your parents deserve each other."

A smile confiscated her face, and she ducked her gaze. She did like someone sticking up for her.

"Um, do you want to brush our teeth together?"

He immediately pushed off the bathtub and plucked his own toothbrush from the coffee mug he kept it in. She squirted some toothpaste on his, and they began to brush their teeth together. She had to admit, she enjoyed this comfort with another person.

"You kissed me," she blurted out around a mouthful of toothpaste.

"I did," he said, eyes on her reflection in the mirror. "It's been awhile."

"Hey, it hasn't been that long. I will have you know I kissed someone in a bar after I broke up with Brandon."

A long, low clicking sound filled the room. "Let's change the subject," Wreck gritted out.

The flames had reappeared in his eyes.

"Oh, like you haven't kissed a million women."

"I meant it had been awhile for me," he said. He spat toothpaste and rinsed his mouth. He still wasn't wearing a T-shirt, and she could see the tattoos on his back so clearly. There were two massive wings tattooed from the spine between his shoulders, and they spread all the way down the back of his arms, fading at his elbows. Along the backs of his forearms, the tattoos were very faint, and wouldn't be recognizable if she didn't know what the feathers were from the darker tattoo on his back.

She leaned forward and brushed her finger along the tattooed feather on the top of his shoulder. "I would've guessed it eventually."

"How?" he asked.

She rinsed her mouth and set her toothbrush next to his in the cup.

"How?" he asked again as she turned toward him.

"Because phoenixes have always been important to me. You have a tattoo of the wings. I have a tattoo of the phoenix."

He stood straighter, and his muscular chest rose as he crossed his arms over his chest. "You don't have a phoenix tattoo," he argued.

A small smile stretched her face as she turned her hip toward him, lifted the hem of her T-shirt, and pulled down the top of her shorts, exposing the phoenix tattoo she had going down the entire length of her thigh.

"It's black-and-white," he uttered. Shock was etched into every angle of his face.

"I like color on other people, but for me, just black ink. I'll leave the fire colors to you."

His eyes were so full of…something. "You have a phoenix tattoo," he whispered. "Why?"

"I got it after I went no-contact with my parents. That saying you recited earlier—the one where the phoenix rises from the ashes? I needed a reminder that I was rising, even on the hard days. And then you tell me you're a phoenix?" She shook her head. "Everything feels so big, and so important right now."

"Fuck," he murmured, tracing the tip of the wings of her tattoo. He looked absolutely floored.

"Do you want to tuck me in before you head for your tent?" she asked, testing.

"I would rather tuck you in and sleep beside you for the next hour. I have to wake up soon for work."

"Come here," she said, repeating the gentle command he used with her.

He followed her down the hall, slipping his hands to her waist from behind as she walked slowly to his bedroom. Her phone was in the bathroom, and probably completely dead by now, but that wasn't important. The moon was full enough, and her eyes were adjusted enough, that she could see the bedroom.

There was something so intimate about existing here in the quiet dark with Wreck—like the world didn't exist outside of these shadows.

It was just them.

His lips brushed the side of her neck, and she rolled her eyes closed as he guided her to the bed. The air had a chill to it, but he reached forward and shot a spark from his fingertips, and the fireplace near the bed ignited. Smoothly, he turned her and walked her backward toward the bed, his eyes trapping every ounce of her focus.

"Did you mean it?" he asked softly, his voice barely audible.

"Mean what?" she asked on a breath.

"You'll help me rebuild this place."

A wicked smile took her lips. "Yes, but you won't enjoy the process."

"Mmmm. You can do what you like with this place," he said as he pulled her T-shirt over her head.

She was still holding his T-shirt, and this was the part where she was supposed to get dressed for bed, but screw it. She tossed his T-shirt on the floor and fell back onto the bed, watching the hungry look on his face as he dragged his gaze up her shorts-clad legs to her bare stomach, and then to her forest-green lace bralette. It was translucent. She'd worn it on purpose for their dinner date, just in case.

He stood there, all tall and strong—muscles rippling, abs flexing with each breath. She wanted to touch him again, but a hunter required patience.

"I don't know what to do with you," he murmured, cocking his head to the side.

And that was answer enough. He'd been through a roller coaster today, and allowed himself to connect with someone, and that could be a draining and overwhelming experience. Clearly, he was still unsure.

She made it easy for him and offered him an out. "How about you tuck me in, and then you can go. You can sleep for an hour, and when you wake up, there will be no regrets."

"That's what you're thinking? You think I will have regrets?"

She didn't know how to answer, so she remained quiet. She leaned down, grabbed his T-shirt, and pulled it over her head. He stood there and watched as she did the girl-rocket-science move and modestly took off her bralette under the shirt. She shimmied out of her shorts and tugged the hem of the oversized T-shirt down to her knees, then stepped forward and gave him a hug, squeezing him up tight. Before he even moved, she released him and slipped under the covers of his bed.

It should stink of smoke in here, but it smelled of fresh pine and earth. She knew magic existed now, because of Wreck.

She laid on her side as he watched her, pulled a pillow to her stomach and hooked her leg over it, then smiled up at him. "Goodnight, Wreck."

He shifted his weight to the other side, and then he slowly peeled off his sweatpants, set them on the end of the bed, and walked around the mattress until he was at her back. She felt the covers peel to the side, and cool air hit her spine. She shifted forward so he would have more room on the queen-sized mattress.

The butterflies in her stomach turned to dragons as his arm slid over her waist. He dragged her back against his warm chest and curled his body protectively around her. The fireplace in the bedroom was a nice addition to this little single-wide, and the fire warmed her cheeks as she watched the flames. She wondered aloud, "Do the flames comfort you?"

"They are a comfort, yes. Familiar. I fall asleep better to the sound of the wood burning."

"You fall asleep better to the soft sound of destruction," she murmured.

"I wouldn't have regrets. I don't want you thinking that. I just want to give you plenty of opportunities to leave before it gets too deep."

"I suppose intimacy would be very deep." With Wreck.

"With other women, I could always flip that switch and take away the feelings, but I don't know if I can with you." He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, "If I taste you, I will want more."

A shiver of excitement trembled up her back. She nestled closer to him and arched, pressing her ass more firmly against him. She could feel his readiness, and it made her want to explore his body more. She wanted to know every inch of his fiery skin. She wanted to feel his muscles when he wasn't tense, or angry, or uncertain. She wanted to know the way he smelled when he slept. She was holding his hand tightly against her chest, nuzzling his knuckles with her cheek. "I will want more, too."

"Then it's decided. We should wait until we are both sure."

"Yes," she whispered, smiling at the fireplace. She slowly rolled over and released his hand, faced him, and said, "You don't scare me, Josiah Itall. I'm already sure."

"What if I burn you?"

"Well, don't."

He huffed a breath, and pushed a strand of loose hair from her face with the tip of his finger. "You make it sound as if it's easy."

"I trust you."

"You trust a monster?" he murmured, cocking an eyebrow up. "Your survival instincts are shit."

She giggled and scooted closer to him, then took his hand from where he was drawing light circles at her temple, and eased it under her shirt.

A groan escaped him when his hand found her bare breast, and his eyes rolled back and closed for a moment as he massaged her there. Needing his touch, she pressed his hand harder there, and ran her shin against his leg under the covers.

"You won't be able to leave me after this," he whispered. Wreck leaned forward and kissed her lips once. Twice. He rested his forehead against hers and slid his other hand under her, wrapped it around her back, and dragged her tightly against him. His skin was heating up.

He rolled over on top of her and pushed her sleep shirt up her body, caressed her breast as he searched her face.

She smiled up at him sweetly. "You won't burn me, because you want to keep me safe instead."

Wreck leaned down and pressed his lips to the side of her throat, right where her pulse was tripping. Could he tell how fast her heart was beating?

He pulled her shirt up, and she helped him get it off her completely. She was clumsy, but he wore this smile that said he liked her just the way she was.

He was perfect, and every muscle was just right, and his face was classic, and she was just…just…her. But Wreck looked at her like she was special, and that made it hard to feel insecure under his capable touch.

He kissed along her collarbone, and then to her breasts—so slowly, so carefully, as if he was memorizing the curves of her body with his lips.

The flickering firelight highlighted his face so attractively. He smiled at her with such confidence, she felt like a goddess in his arms.

He pulled her panties from her legs and pulled the covers over them, leaned down slowly, and drank her lips in.

Wreck was a bad boy. Oh, she knew he was bad, but she didn't care. It felt right being in his arms like this. It felt exciting, and like she was finally alive again.

He leaned down and drew her sensitive nipple into his mouth. He sucked it gently, eliciting a moan from her as she arched back against the mattress.

He paid the same attention to her other breast, and by the time he was done, she had her fingers gripping his hair and was begging for more.

Wreck rolled his body against hers, and the friction he created made her want him even more.

"Please," she whispered as he rolled his body against her.

"Mmm, I like when you beg. What do you want?"

"You."

With his fingertips, Wreck teased her entrance under the covers. She felt so safe and cared for in the warmth of this room, all cuddled under the blankets with him.

Timber ran her nails lightly up his back, reveling in the way he arched for her and the sexy noise he made in his throat. There was such power in drawing a reaction like that from a strong man.

He ran his knuckles against her cheek and kissed her. It was a gentle kiss as he rolled his hips against her, teasing, and oh, this felt like falling.

He eased back, pushed his briefs down his thighs, and looked into her eyes as he slowly slid into her…and this was what love felt like. This soul-to-soul connection as they gave themselves to each other.

She gasped at how good he felt deep inside of her, closing her eyes to the world. She hooked her arm around his shoulder and scratched his scalp gently.

He kissed her cheek, kissed her throat, kissed her collarbone…Wreck had his own language when he made love.

She understood it.

He cared for her body, worshipped her like she'd never been treated before. He had this awed look on his face whenever their eyes met, and this was everything.

He moved inside of her smoothly, setting a good pace and hitting her deep just like she liked it. The tingling tension slowly built inside of her body. His eyes locked on hers, and she'd never done anything like this before. This was intimacy, but on another level she had never reached with anyone.

He gripped her waist and moved in her, deep, deep.

Timber spread her knees wider and clutched him tighter, close now.

"Wreck," she uttered under her breath.

"I've got you."

That promise was so sexy, and so perfect here in the dark. She'd always wanted that promise from a man.

Wreck pushed into her faster, harder. Harder. Harder!

She gasped out a soft curse as her body shattered, and Wreck pushed into her deeper. Harder. Faster!

"Wreck, right there!" she cried out as he dragged out every pulse of pleasure from her body.

He gritted his teeth and froze on top of her, every muscle tensed. She could feel the pulsing of his release between her legs, and it was perfect.

Her body throbbed on and on, encouraged by his release, and she thought this was the most beautiful moment she'd ever existed in.

Whatever she'd expected from a shifter, she hadn't expected to be so well taken care of. She hadn't expected to be cared for.

Down to the part where Wreck pulled her against him and hugged her tight until sleep dragged at her. She felt safe, and whole, cared for and protected, and it was everything she hadn't realized she'd been truly missing.

Wreck had given her more tonight than he even realized.

In his arms, she was learning who she was. There was power in a man who could do that for a woman.